Let The Rain
by SomewhereApart
Summary: Set during 2.12, "Homeward Bound." A little bourbon, a little Alabama, a whole lot of rain, and a little bit of grief sex.


He finds her on the back porch, in the dark. The lights from inside the house combine with a thin bloom of sweat to make her skin glow in a way that seems unreal. Unnatural. She's still in her dress, but she's pulled the rest of her hair up into a short, stubby ponytail, and she's barefoot now. It makes her look small, and young. And so pretty it makes his breath catch when he sees her.

The air is still thick and muggy; it smells like roses and ozone. Charlotte is staring out at the vast expanse of land she grew up on, silvery moonlight fighting with the dark, trying to bring form to the gardens and sloping lawn he'd walked earlier when she had asked him to leave her be for a while to deal with the coroner. With her mother.

Cooper's not sure she knows he's there - she hasn't moved a muscle since he stepped onto the porch. She's just standing there, mouth drawn into a frown, a lowball of bourbon in one hand, resting against her collar. Her other arm is wrapped around her torso, moving slightly with every slow, even breath she takes. He's not sure what to say to her - not sure if he should say anything at all - so he takes another step closer to her and just stands there, hands in his pockets.

For a minute, it's quiet - not silent, not with the chirping of frogs and bugs creating a low current of white noise... but quiet. When she finally speaks, her voice is low and warm, but distant. All she says is, "It's gonna rain."

He turns his attention from her to the sky, and he realizes the weak moonlight isn't for lack of moon. It's up there, big and round and working hard to shine through a layer of clouds. The scatter of light through the vapor gives the moon a wide halo, but it's uneven on one side, obscured by darker clouds. There's a far-off flash of lightning a moment later. He counts the long, lazy seconds until the low rumble of thunder reaches them, and then answers her. "Yeah. Looks like it will."

"The ground'll be wet tomorrow. We'll be tossin' mud on the coffin instead of dirt." Her words are even, steady.

"It'll be fine," he tries to soothe. "Maybe it won't rain too much."

One corner of her mouth twitches in an attempt at a smile, and she looks at him, finally. "Oh, it's gonna rain," she assures him. "We'll get a deluge soon enough, just you watch."

"Oh, yeah?" he smiles, trying to urge her to do the same, and wondering if maybe there's some double meaning in what she said. She's due for a deluge herself, due for a good, hard cry. She's been dry-eyed since he ended her father's life this afternoon, and it's unnerving him.

She doesn't smile back at him, just lifts her glass to her lips and takes a slow sip. She looks back at the lawn and tells him, "Mmhmm. Little bit of rain doesn't smell like this. You're gonna be treated to a good-old-fashioned Alabama frog-strangler."

He chuckles and wrinkles his brow at her. "Frog-strangler?"

She nods, sips her bourbon again and explains, "Just what it sounds like. Rain so hard it chokes the frogs."

"Literally?"

She smirks and admits, "Nah," then frowns again, suddenly. "At least, I don't think so."

He laughs a little, and she smiles again, and Cooper is grateful for Southern turns of phrase. Anything to make her smile, he'll gladly take. But the moment ends, and there's nothing for them to talk about now. Nothing to fill the silence. Even the frogs and the bugs have turned the volume down.

Another distant rumble reaches them, and Cooper plants his palms on the porch rail and leans his weight there, squinting out into the dark. The moon is mostly obscured now, and the lawn is almost black. There's a light on in the distance - the stables, he knows. But other than that, and the occasional flash of lightning, the night has gone pitch dark. The house lights illuminate about five feet in front of them, and after that, he's lost.

"Thank you for comin'," she tells him, out of nowhere.

Cooper turns, leans his hip against the rail and tells her, "It was the least I could do."

"No, it wasn't. The least you could do was nothin'," she points out, "especially considerin' the way things have been lately."

"I suppose that's true," he concedes with a shrug. "I guess I just couldn't stand the thought of you here, hurting, and me being so far away."

"I'm fine," she tells him stonily, taking another swig of bourbon, this one heftier than the ones before.

"Charlotte," he sighs. "You don't have to-"

"We're not together," she reminds him sharply. "Don't expect intimacy and sharin' and all that mess."

He wants to point out she hasn't exactly given him reason to expect that in the past, even when they were together, but in the interest of avoiding a fight, he leaves it unsaid. "Charlotte, I left a sick kid to fly half way across the country and drive an hour and a half through _Alabama_ to be with you. Because I love you." She looks at him then, sucks her bottom lip in a little bit, but doesn't say anything. "And I miss you. And the thought of you hurting - grieving - makes me hurt. I've tried to want nothing to do with you, and I suck at it. I'm miserable without you, and I want to try to work things out. So I came. Okay?"

Her chin quivers slightly, and she turns her face back out to the lawn and sucks in a deep breath. Her "okay," is punctuated by the first few drops of rain. They start slow; he feels one on the back of his hand, hears one ping off a tin flowerpot near the porch steps. The ozone smell is stronger, and he feels a cool breeze rise out of nowhere. He's gotten so used to the heat that he almost shivers at the shift in temperature.

Charlotte doesn't seem to have anything else to say at the moment, so he asks her a question that's been bugging him since he made an ass of himself in the elevator the other day.

"Why didn't you tell me your dad was sick?"

Her mouth tightens, but it's not enough to hide the way her chin quivers or her heavy swallow. He's touched a nerve, so he tries to tread carefully, attempting to coax her out of her continued silence with, "We were about to live together. We love each other. You never said a word."

"I didn't want to talk about it," she finally answers. "Bein' with you... I didn't have to think about it then. Didn't want to talk about it. And you'd have wanted to talk about it."

"I could've not talked about it, if you'd asked me to," he insists, and she gives him a doubtful glare that says she clearly disagrees.

"No, you couldn't have."

"I could have tried?" he reasons, because she's probably right. He'd have wanted her to open up, he'd have wanted to help her cope.

Charlotte shakes her head. "You'd have asked how he was doin'. You'd have asked how _I_ was doin'. I didn't want that."

The rain has picked up, just like she said it would. It's coming down now in fat, noisy drops, splattering the rooftop above them and making them raise their voices slightly to be heard over the din.

"I just hate that idea that you've gone through this all on your own, without me. I could've helped."

"Cooper." She looks hard at him. "Unless you've been hidin' the cure for cancer somewhere, there's not a damned thing you could've done. And are you upset I was copin' all by my lonesome, or that I was doin' it without you, because those are two different things, and what my family's goin' through right now isn't about _you_."

The accusation that his feelings are self-serving stings a bit, and he scowls at her. "I just wish you didn't think you had to handle everything on your own. We were together - we were supposed to be sharing our lives with each other, trusting each other, _depending_ on each other. I hate when you shut me out; you know that. It's not about me wanting to be the hero, or whatever. It's about us, being a couple."

Not that it wouldn't be nice to be needed, he adds silently, to himself, because truth be told he is a little put-out that she didn't give him a chance to be her rock. For once.

She rewards his honesty by doing exactly what he's asked her not to - she turns her face back to the rain and changes the subject. "Y'know, when I was a little girl, I used to run out into the yard when it rained liked this. I'd spin around until I was dizzy and soaked, and Momma'd always be yellin' at me to come back inside before I got struck by lightnin' or somethin' like that. But I loved the storms. I loved bein' in the middle of somethin' so fierce and all-consuming."

He's charmed by the idea of a little Charlotte dancing in the rain, but not so much that he doesn't call her out on her evasion: "You realize you just shut me out again, right?"

She sighs, heavily. "Cooper, I can't get into this whole thing tonight. I don't have it in me to argue about us. And I'm tired of talkin' about death, and my Daddy, so we can talk about the storm, or we can not talk at all. Under the circumstances, I don't think that's so unfair."

He has to give her that, he supposes. Today. Under the circumstances. So he nods, and shoves his hands into his pockets and looks out into the rain again. The lightning is closer now, bright flashes followed several seconds later by rolling percussion. The thunder is less muted, more ominous.

He looks back at Charlotte, and he can't read her. She's finished her drink and set the glass on the rail, and it's slowly splattering with rain. Her face is stony, but her breath is quick and deep. He wishes she'd just break already, but he knows she won't. Not as long as she has an audience.

But that doesn't mean she can't let go.

He reaches for her, skims his fingertip up her arm, and asks, "You ever get hurt out in the rain?"

She shakes her head slowly. "Not once."

"Then let's do it."

Her brow crinkles as she turns her face to him. "What?"

"Come spin in the rain with me," he urges, threading their fingers and giving hers a little tug.

She looks him up and down, appraising him, like she's trying to decide if he's gone a little bit crazy. But all she says is, "Your shoes will get all soggy."

That's an easy fix. Cooper toes off his shoes, then reaches down and pulls off his socks. The painted wood of the porch is smooth under his feet as he slips his cell phone from his pocket and sets it safety on the small table next to the rocking chair. Charlotte watches the whole thing with growing amusement.

"You really gonna go out there and get all muddy?" she questions, and he gives her a confident, "yup," and heads for the steps. Lighting slices through the sky, and Cooper takes a deep breath and steps into the rain before he can get psyched out by the inevitable thunderclap.

It's heavier than he realized in the dark, and he's soaked almost immediately, but, God, does it feel good. And Charlotte is standing on the steps now, grinning at him. He throws his arms out and makes one slow rotation, then calls to her, "C'mon out! It feels great!"

She laughs and shakes her head at him. "You're crazy, you know that?"

"Now you sound like your mother," he calls back, knowing it'll be enough to change her mind.

Sure enough, her jaw drops indignantly and she bounds out into the downpour with him, stopping a few inches away. They're on the edge of the halo of ambient light from the house, so he can see her, but just barely. She tips her head back, lets the rain fall down on her face and smiles.

"Feels good, right?" he asks, reaching for her again, his fingers sliding against her slippery skin.

She tips her head back down, and blinks her eyes open. "Feels great."

"I believe you promised me a spin," he teases, finding her hand, as she tells him she didn't promise him a damned thing. "Well, maybe I want one anyway." He tightens his grip on her hand and starts walking in a circle, leaning back just a little and forcing her to brace herself against his weight. She reaches her other hand out on instinct, and he grabs it before she can pull it back, locking his fingers tightly around hers. He rounds her like a hub, moving faster and faster until she laughingly calls him a cheater as she's forced into motion to counter him. "You're being a spoilsport," he insists, and then she finally leans back, shifting the center of rotation from her to their joined hands. _That's more like it_, he thinks, and they spin and spin until she's laughing, and he's grinning. And then she jerks suddenly and curses, and laughingly pleads with him to _stop, stop!_ He does, reeling her in, and she chuckles and shifts - at least, he thinks she does. They've spun themselves out of the light, and he can't see her anymore.

"I slipped," she tells him, and he tightens his grip on her. "The grass is wet."

He'd noticed - it's slick under their feet, and the ground is starting to squish between his toes. "You alright?"

"Yeah, just figured we should stop before one of us ends up with a broken neck."

Lightning flashes again, and for a second he can see her: she's drenched and smiling, eyes bright and straight on him. And then it's over and he's blind to her again, so he leans forward until he can find her forehead with his lips. Her skin is cool against his mouth, and he skims lower, kissing the bridge of her nose, and then her lips. It's the first kiss they've shared in weeks, and suddenly he's starved for her. Her mouth is soft and yielding against his, her lips parting eagerly, her breath washing against his face. He takes the invitation without hesitation, deepening the kiss. She tastes like bourbon and rain and Charlotte, and he can't get enough of her. He's not sure who moves first - him tugging her closer, or her winding her arms around his neck, but before he knows it, there's not a sliver of space between them, their chests expanding tightly into each other with each heavy breath they take.

Charlotte is the first to break, pulling away and sucking in a lungful of fresh air. Cooper takes the opportunity to dive for her neck, and is pretty sure he connects with her jaw, but hey, he's flying blind here. But she calls him off, lifting a hand to his chest and panting, "Wait." Lightning slices through the sky again, and she says, "Follow me," before a booming crack of thunder reverberates over the yard.

Cooper's heart is pounding hard as she takes his hand and gives him a tug in the opposite direction of the house. "Where are we going?" he calls to her over the rain. His arm is stretched out in front of him, their fingers barely hooked together as he follows dutifully. And then her fingers slip from his, and he's rudderless. "Char?" he calls. "Where are you?"

"Just follow the light!" she hollers back, and she has several feet on him now by the sound of it.

"I don't exactly know the terrain!" he reminds her. The only reply he gets is "You'll learn!" and she's even further out now. He squints through the sluicing rain to make out the light on the other end of the yard, and heads in that direction with a silent prayer that he not trip over anything.

Another lightning strike lights up the sky enough for him to see her sprinting ahead of him, and he picks up his pace - doubling it at the electric, staticy crack of thunder that rips the sky immediately. They really shouldn't be out in this.

It takes a few minutes (and one painfully stubbed toe), but soon he sees her again, standing underneath the light outside the stables. Her dress is like a second skin, clinging to her breasts and belly, and bunching on her thighs. The rain has sucked enough heat from the air to make it chilly, and he can see the hard points of her nipples as he gets closer. She's breathing heavily, waiting for him with her back pressed against the stable door.

When he comes into view, she grins and taunts, "Slowpoke," then pulls the door open and steps inside.

He follows, as the sky outside lights up again and a loud boom rattles the barn. "Is this a safe place to be?" he asks, not wanting to sound like a wuss, but it's getting really bad out there, and they're a little far from the house for his tastes.

"Safe enough for the horses," she reasons with a shrug, one hand wiping at the bangs the rain has glued to her forehead as she adds, "That's safe enough for me."

The rain is loud in here - pounding a deafening, staccato drumbeat on the metal roof. The lights are low, and the air smells like hay and horses, dirt and shit. Charlotte takes a step to the left, into the dark and calls to him, "C'mon!"

Cooper wonders why she's always leading him into places he can barely see her.

But he can make out a white door ahead of them, and sure enough, she has them headed straight for it. She opens it, and gropes blindly to her side for a second. And then the room is filled with light, and Cooper finds himself blinking hard to adjust as they step inside and shut the door behind them.

It's a tack room, the walls lined with saddles, and bridles, and reins, and all the other accouterments of horseback riding. There's an old leather couch along one wall, and a tall safe in the corner next to it, a small mini-fridge wedged in between them. It's quieter in here - the walls are lined with wood planks and the ceiling is lower, providing a buffer between them and the pounding rain. The room is humid and stuffy, but in the light he can see goosebumps on Charlotte's skin, so maybe warm isn't such a bad thing.

Thunder booms loudly again as Charlotte turns to face him. "There's no privacy in the house," she explains, stepping closer and reaching for his shirt, giving it a tug towards her. It's plastered to his skin, so all she really accomplishes is making it suck wetly against him, but he gets the hint and closes the gap between them, winding his arms around her waist. Her voice is lower, sexier, when she adds, "And I don't want to have to be quiet."

He's hard again, instantly - no small feat in heavy, soaked denim. The look on her face makes her intentions unmistakable - she wants to pick up exactly where they left off outside.

"Wouldn't want that," he agrees with a smirk, running his hands over her soaked dress, down to cup her ass and squeeze. God, she's just perfect, he thinks. He can't believe he lasted so long without her. The thought reminds him what got them here, back together in the midst of an Alabama thunderstorm - her father, a funeral, a whole heap of aching sadness. He doesn't want to stop this, but he wants to make sure she doesn't have an excuse to be mad at him about it in the morning, so he offers her a token, "You sure you want to do this right now?"

Charlotte nods and takes a step back, pulling him with her in the direction of the couch. "I want it," she assures, then she looks him in the eye and tells him, "I need it." All of a sudden, he can see it all over her - the stress, the grief, the gut-searing pain. Her voice is a touch unsteady as she emphasizes, "I really, really need it right now."

He nods, and tells her "Okay" and "I've got you," in a way he's pretty sure will get his butt kicked. But she surprises him - she just nods and steers them toward the couch again. She spins them a foot before they run into it, and he's not at all surprised. It allows her to give him one little shove and have him collapse onto the cushions - which means she can straddle him, a knee on either side of his hips, and take the reins as she crushes her mouth to his. She's going to want to be in control this time - he knows her well enough to know that. Today, when everything is out of her hands, she'll want him in the palm of hers, and he'll gladly give it to her if it means she'll feel even an iota better than she does right now.

Her kisses are fierce and needy, her fingers tangling in his hair and gripping, and her hips are grinding down against his, rubbing in a slow, steady back-and-forth that makes him wish for several less layers between them. He does his best to keep up with her, and busies his hands with her body. Her dress is cool from the rainwater, but he can feel the heat of her skin beneath it, and everywhere he touches he leaves more warmth in his wake. He wants her skin, but he's not sure they'll ever get back into these clothes if they get out of them, so he settles for reaching behind her and unzipping just enough for him to wrestle the fabric down her shoulders. He tugs it to her elbows, and she makes a sound of irritation. The material is thin, but that doesn't matter - right now, it's still heavy enough to inhibit her movement.

He ignores her protest, and slips his fingers under the straps of her bra, drawing them off her shoulders, then reaching around and unhooking it easily before peeling the soaked cups down until he can fill his hands with her breasts. Her skin is cold and damp, but it doesn't make a damn bit of difference. Her body is still as amazing as always, and when he rubs his thumbs over her nipples, and then squeezes them lightly, she's not protesting anymore. She breaks the kiss and exhales heavily, and Cooper takes the opportunity to loop an arm around her waist and use it to tug her up until he can get his mouth on her. He swirls his tongue over one nipple, then sucks it in, draws his head back and lets it release, then sucks it in again and repeats.

Charlotte's fingers are on his neck now, gripping his nape hard as she arches toward him. One hand leaves to find his, pressing it hard against her breast, and ordering, "Both."

He tweaks her nipple with his fingers and gives the other another hard suck, and she makes this sound that goes straight to his cock. God, he wants her. Now. Right now. He reminds himself that she needs this, that this is for her more than him, and that he needs to cool it. He tries to think of something to distract himself - but he's still teasing her nipples and she's making that sound again, over and over, throaty and eager, and she's squirming and grinding against him, and it's impossible to think about anything else. She's climbing the walls, fingernails scrabbling against his neck, breast pressing into his face with every heavy breath she drags in. He can't believe he went so long without feeling her this way.

"God, Cooper," she groans, and he works her harder. She lets out a soft cry, then pants, "Stop - I need you to - God, stop..."

He flicks his tongue against her, rubs his thumb over her and drops his head back to look up at her. "You want me to _stop_?"

She nods, bites her lower lip and leans in for a kiss, drawing it out and finishing it with a flick of her tongue against his. Then she tells him, "I want you to go down on me."

Cooper smirks. "Ah." He reaches up and wipes her bangs to the side, then cups the back of her head and tugs her mouth back to his for another slow, burning kiss. When it ends, he lifts her unceremoniously and flops her over onto the sofa. Charlotte chuckles, shifting onto her back and letting her legs fall open as Cooper slips off the couch and onto his knees. He gives her a little tug, and she slides easily along the surface, smiling down at him and spreading her legs even wider. Her dress is still sticking to her; he pushes it up her thighs and wastes no time hooking his fingers into the waistband of her underwear and tugging. It's soaked, too, and sticks to her skin a little, peeling away as he draws the material down.

"These important to you?" he asks, and when she shakes her head, he drops them on the dusty tack room floor. She shifts on the leather, letting one leg dangle over the edge, the other knee bent, her foot on the sofa cushion, flecked with stray blades of grass. Cooper drops a kiss onto her knee, then makes his way up her thigh slowly, teasingly. Her skin grows warmer the closer he gets, but when he finally swipes his tongue up the center of her, she still feels startlingly warm in contrast. She hisses in a breath and pushes her hips toward him slightly, and he doesn't have to look up to know she's giving him a little nod of encouragement. He licks her again, then slides his hands underneath her thighs, around to grip her hips and hold her there for him. He flicks his tongue against her clit once, and she jerks and cries out softly. Cooper smirks; he loves catching her by surprise.

Then he slips his tongue lower, circling her opening, dipping it inside. Charlotte's hips squirm in his hands, and she huffs out an impatient breath and mutters something about gettin' on with it already, but he knows her better than that. She likes to be teased - or at the very least, she doesn't mind it as much as she likes to pretend she does. So he stays put right where he is, ignoring her clit for now and focusing all his attention on her opening. He licks around it, stiffens his tongue and fucks her with it, lets it go soft and laps at her, and before long she's breathing heavily, and squeezing the leather cushion, and pushing her hips toward him again.

"God, Cooper, please," she breathes, and he grins. He knows he promised himself he'd let her take the reins, but he can't help the little thrill he gets every time she begs him for something. And tonight she's giving it up without much of a fight, telling him again, "Please, my clit, God... I need you on my clit."

He shifts just slightly, until his mouth is right above where she wants it, and looks up at her. She's watching him intently, skin flushed, nipples still stiff - although with the way her hand is cupping her breast, he has a feeling she's had a hand in keeping them that way. The thought has him kind of wishing he'd looked up sooner. He meets her eyes and teases, "You need me on it, huh?"

Her mouth tightens into a scowl and she tells him, "Yes," in a way that makes it clear she's not up for being taunted tonight - not verbally, anyway. And that's fair, he reminds himself; she needs this. She needs the distraction, needs the release. So he brings his mouth down and lets his tongue come into contact with her clit, gently, swirling it around ever-so-slowly. Charlotte's toes curl, and her fingers draw into tight fists as she groans his name. "Stop teasin'," she breathes, so he presses harder against her, then closes his lips around her and gives her a slow, deep suck. The noise she lets out makes it clear this is much more her speed, so he keeps it up, alternating between firm licks and slow sucks until her hips are jerking involuntarily every few times he comes into contact with her, and she has one calf wound around his shoulder, pressing him closer, egging him on.

"Unh... God... Cooper... fuck... please... oh, goddamnit... do the thing, please God, do that thing with-_oh!_" He switches to flickering his tongue against her clit, lightning-quick, right on the most sensitive part. Her back arches immediately, and he's glad for the hands he has anchoring her hips, because they keep him from losing his rhythm, even when she starts to writhe against him. "Mm-ah! Oh! God, fingers, fuck me with your- oh!"

And this is what she meant about not wanting to have to be quiet, he smirks to himself, adjusting his grip on her hips, pulling one hand back and between her legs. He has to let up on her with his tongue, but only long enough for him to dip one finger inside her to get it slicked up, then the next, and then both together. He glances up at her, and she's watching expectantly, her lip caught in her teeth again. He grins at her and quirks his fingers just so and her jaw drops. He does it again and she tips her head back with a moan that sounds suspiciously like "both," so he brings his tongue back to her, flicking it against her as his fingers set a quick pace inside her. In no time at all, she's hollering the rafters down, cursing a blue streak, her muscles tight around his fingers, hips arching toward his face as her whole body goes rigid with orgasm.

Cooper doesn't let up, pushing her higher, higher, until she's gritting her teeth and gripping his shoulders and letting out a little squeak as her body shudders again, hard. She pushes at his head, forcing him to break contact, and as soon as he does, her whole body goes limp with a sigh. She stays sprawled for a second, catching her breath, and Cooper slows his fingers to a lazy in-and-out, not meant to rile her up, just to keep her on a low burn until she's ready for more.

"That was..." she pants heavily, "Mm... good..."

"Just good?" he teases, trying his hardest to ignore the way his erection is being almost painfully restrained by his unyielding jeans.

She rolls her eyes, and smiles, and tells him, "Pretty damned great. Better?"

"Much," he smirks, slipping his fingers out of her, finally, and shifting up to the sofa. He sits and reaches for his fly, saying, "But I've gotta loosen this before I die over here."

Charlotte smirks, and lets her knee swing back and forth lazily, but she doesn't make any move to change positions. Cooper unbuttons and pulls down his fly, sighing at the release of pressure. Then he looks at her and asks, "You gonna come over here?" He waggles his brows at her and adds, "Take me for a little ride?"

Charlotte grins, and glances around the tack room. "Oh, I'm sure we could get up to all sorts of kinky stuff in here, if a good _ride_ is what you want, mister." He wonders for the briefest of seconds if maybe he's bitten off more than he can chew, but she's quick to continue with, "But that's not what I want tonight. You come here."

Cooper lifts his brows slightly, and shifts, levering over her in what could almost be considered missionary position - one they rarely get to until several rounds into an evening. "You want me on top?" he questions, and she nods with a little smile. There's something sad about it, though - the smile seems forced, and by no means does it reach her eyes. He wants to say something, ask if she's okay, but he doesn't want to kill the moment. And it turns out he doesn't have to, because she reaches up and draws him down for a kiss, and then whispers to him, "This is how you helped me cope."

Cooper swallows, and nods, and finally gets it. She may not have wanted to share, she may not have wanted to talk, but, God, has she always wanted to screw. He doesn't have enough hands or feet to count the number of times she's called, or texted, told him to come over, to meet her in her office. Days she was frantic or edgy in a way that didn't seem like it was about the need for discretion and good time management. He'd always just figured that was Charlotte being Charlotte, but now, knowing what he knows, maybe it was more. Maybe it was Charlotte needing someone to help her soothe her overworked nerves, help her tamp down some of the emotion she wasn't ready to feel, and if sex is how he's helped her, then by God, he's gonna screw her brains out now. It's not the most romantic of notions, but romance has never really been where they live.

He kisses her again, murmurs, "I've got you. Just give me a second to..." He sits back, tries to push his jeans down. They're still soaked - he wishes he'd changed into something less heavy after his shower, because they don't come down easily. But it makes Charlotte chuckle, and sit up herself, reaching to give him a hand. The heaviness of a moment before is lifted, so he's grateful for that at least, and together they manage to get jeans and boxers down as far as mid-thigh. It's not ideal, but it's enough.

Charlotte lies back again, and reaches between them, guiding him into place as he moves over her. He bumps against damp, slippery skin and swallows hard. He can't wait to be inside her again; it's been way too long. She swivels her hips a little, wets the tip of him against her, then lines him up right and nods, says quietly, "Okay."

Cooper presses into her; slick, wet heat enveloping him inch by inch. His eyes drop shut, and for a moment he just savors the feel of that first moment inside her. He shifts his weight slightly, braces himself more steadily over her, and opens his eyes again. Hers are closed now, her lips barely parted, her jaw working slightly as he pulls back, then slides forward again. Lashes flutter, and then she opens her eyes again, and looks away slightly, over his shoulder. "You good?" he asks, and she nods, and meets his gaze again.

"Yeah," she assures, fingertips skimming along his hips. "Go ahead." She works up an impish smirk for him and adds, "I know you want to."

Cooper smiles, and ducks his head into her neck, murmuring, "Always," before planting a kiss there and starting a steady pace in and out of her with his hips. It's good - so good, impossibly good. At least, it is for him. It must not be so great for her because a minute later she squeezes his hips, and breathes, "Wait. I need to - Can we shift a little?"

He lifts his head to find her frowning slightly and remembers why they don't do missionary very often - it just never seems to trip her trigger. "Yeah, of course," he tells her, pulling back slightly to give her a little bit of space.

"If we just-" She lifts her knees higher, and he gets where she's going with this. He reaches down and hooks his elbows under her knees, drawing them up closer to her chest, and finding a steady place for his hands again. It changes the angle of everything, makes her tighter around him, and when he pulls back and pushes in again, she inhales sharply and nods. "That's better," she breathes, and then she smiles, and he smiles back at her, and finds his rhythm again.

It's a lot more successful this time - she's moaning, and gasping, and grinding her head back into the couch cushion, eyes shut tight. Her trigger is definitely tripped. Which is good, because the shift in angle has made this even better for him, too, and he's not gonna last much longer. He moves faster, harder, and she cries out, one hand flying to his bicep and squeezing there, as she gasps, "Fuck! Yeah, just like that..."

"Get your clit," he murmurs, because he's not going to be able to keep this up long enough for the friction alone to do her in - not after going so long without her. She has no problem doing exactly what he says, though, one hand snaking in between them and finding her clit. He has to adjust slightly to accommodate her, but soon they're back in rhythm, and she's biting her lip again, grunting and rubbing herself, her face starting to screw up that way it does right before she finishes - her forehead scrunches, eyes squeezing shut, like she's concentrating on getting where she's headed and not a damn thing is gonna get in her way.

"Come on, beautiful - unh - give it to me," he urges, watching her face despite his better judgment - it's only going to make this go faster for him. "Let it go."

"Harder," she breathes, and he shifts his grip on the sofa for leverage and complies, driving hard into her, and trying desperately to hold back as the pleasure ratchets up another notch. Her head tips back sharply as she cries out, and then she nods, nods, nods, and lets out a shout as she comes. As soon as he's sure she's gotten there, Cooper lets himself go as well, coming inside her with a last few, deep thrusts.

By the time they collapse together, they're both sweaty, still trapped in their clothes, although her dress looks like it's headed toward dry. His jeans are still hopelessly wet, and he's a little concerned they won't be able to get them up and buttoned, but that's a worry for a few minutes from now, so he puts it out of his mind, and focuses on sucking slow, soft kisses into the hollow of Charlotte's collar.

It takes him a second to realize her breathing isn't just heavy, it's ragged, and he lifts his head fully expecting to find tears on her cheeks. She's dry-eyed, but just barely. She's staring at the ceiling, and her orgasms have stripped her of some of her armor, because he can see straight through her. He can see the pain she's in, he can see how hard she's working to keep herself under control, and it kills him.

"Char," he murmurs, lips brushing against her chin. "Just let it out. Here. With me. Nobody can hear you here, but me. Nobody will know."

She shakes her head, sucks in a breath and blows it out - stitching her composure back together. She blinks a few times, and the moment is lost. "I can't," she tells him. "Not here."

"Char-"

"Not in Alabama," she insists. "Not in this place."

"Okay, then where?" he asks, tracing a fingertip along her forehead.

"Not in Alabama," she repeats, and she's getting restless beneath him, rolling her shoulders, turning her head to look across the room, then back up at the ceiling. She never once looks at him.

"Why not?" he urges gently. "It's just me."

"I think the rain stopped," she tells him, and he knows he's lost her. "We should head back up to the house. I'm beat."

Cooper sighs heavily, and pushes off of her. He knows when she's pulled back so far he can't reach. They somehow manage to get themselves back into their wet clothes, which seem remarkably uncomfortable now that there's no air of play or promise of sex to go with them. She's right - the rain has stopped, and the barn is eerily quiet when they head back out. The moon is bright and full, and it makes it easy to see all the way back to the house. It shines off the slick grass, illuminates the brick pathway he stubbed his toe on earlier. Charlotte doesn't say another word the whole walk back.

All the lights in the house are out now, except for the kitchen, and the grand foyer, and the back porch light. The porch light was off when they left, and as they make their way back to the house he can tell that Charlotte's glass isn't on the rail anymore. When they get closer, they find a pair of towels stacked neatly on the table where he'd left his phone. It's gone, and so are his shoes, but when he picks up the towels to hand one to Charlotte, and finds them just a little bit damp, he's grateful to think his phone might be somewhere further removed from the elements.

"Guess someone knew we were out there, huh?" he says, trying to engage Charlotte in conversation.

All she gives him in response is a, "Make sure you wipe your feet," as she bends to do just that, then lets herself back inside once she's sure she's not going to track in earth and grass.

Cooper sighs and does the same, then follows her in. By the time he gets to the bedroom, she's already stripped down to nothing and rooting through her bag for her pajamas.

"Not gonna talk to me anymore?" he asks her, as he reaches for his fly, and begins the process of struggling out of his jeans again.

"Cooper, I'm tired," she tells him, and in her defense, she sounds it. There's a weariness in her voice that wasn't there before, and he wonders if maybe their little romp didn't do her any good after all. Maybe it just made her more tired.

But when they crawl into bed a few minutes later, she rolls toward him, draping her arm across him and snuggling in close. It's rare for her - she's not a cuddly sleeper - but Cooper lifts his arm and lets her scoot in even further, until she's pressed against his side, her head pillowed on his chest. He wraps one arm around her, lets the other hand stroke lazily along her arm, back and forth, back and forth.

"Cooper?" she murmurs a few minutes later.

His voice scratches on his first attempt, and he has to clear his throat before repeating, "Yeah?"

"Thank you." It's soft, and sincere, and he turns his face into her hair and breathes her in.

"I helped?"

She nods, and lets out a heavy breath, and assures him, "You helped. I'm glad you came."

"I'll always come for you," he assures her, even though it sounds trite, and like something you'd hear in a movie. She must agree because she lets out a little chuckle, and shakes her head slightly.

And then she stills.

He's not sure who falls asleep first, but he knows she spends the rest of her night curled against him, and tonight, that's enough of a concession for him. Maybe they're not the touch-feely couple. Maybe she doesn't want to share. But they have this - this connection of bodies - and maybe for her it accomplishes the same thing. Maybe for her, the sex is enough to heal her, and if that's how he can help her cope, then that's what he'll do.

For now, it's enough.


End file.
